Death by 1,000 Cuts

It’s Christmas, a time for joy, peace and love. Peace and love. My brother and I are opening up our gifts from each other. I have no idea what I got him. In all likelihood my parents bought it, wrapped it and just stuck my name on it. Being 6 or 7 years old at the time I did not have money. But neither did my brother. And yet, he wanted to give me something special.

Hiding beneath the gift paper was something hard, like a board. It was about an inch thick, a foot long and maybe 4 inches across. I tore into it, revealing the grey and white paint of an aircraft carriers flight deck. My brother had painted a tossed off piece of lumber and based off our mutual love of Top Gun had tried to recreate something cool for me to launch my toy planes from.

My brother is not the most skilled with his hands. The paint was uneven, the numbers and lines crooked and in general it looked like someone who was 8 had done it. This made sense, of course, as he was probably about eight years old. But it was special because he had made it just for me and I knew it was special for him too. So I thanked him, tried to give him a hug and moved onto the next present.

It was nice.

Later in the morning we were squabbling over something stupid, probably stickers or batteries or something. Who knows. All fights as a child are over something stupid. It’s not like we’re solving world hunger as preteens. So anyways, we’re fighting and I want to hurt his feelings. Being the petty, spoiled child I was, I went for the jugular. I went after his present.

“What kind of crappy gift is this?” I said, holding up the painted wood. “It doesn’t even look right. It’s so bad with the lines all crooked. It’s a joke. Thanks for nothing.”

Ok so that’s obviously not verbatim. That’s the gist.

I do not recall the aftermath. I know I hurt his feelings because I have a vague recollection of apologizing. And it must have been bad because it’s stayed with me all these years. It’s a memory I can’t let go of. That I could act with such malice and petty, that I could hurt and maim my brother like, is sometimes too much to carry. He claims he has no idea if that ever happened and doesn’t remember it at all. But I do. And its little things like this that slowly drain away at your soul. The little wrongs and shit things you do every day. It’s death by a thousand cuts.

And I’ve got plenty of them.